


Blaze of Glory

by ashaleighmarie



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, Michael's Heist fic, Or not, R&R Connection - Freeform, could be shippy if you want, if you saw the heist you know who dies, now with more death, so it works for everyone, wheeee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashaleighmarie/pseuds/ashaleighmarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ryan and Ray: killing machines. You’re gonna be on the ground, on foot. You’re gonna be helping Geoff with keeping the cops off of us while Gavin and I rob the joint.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blaze of Glory

Something about the whole setup was off from the beginning.

_“Ryan and Ray: killing machines. You’re gonna be on the ground, on foot. You’re gonna be helping Geoff with keeping the cops off of us while Gavin and I rob the joint.”_

It was far more dangerous on foot than in the air. Two helicopters might have made more sense. Or being in a car. Having a pre-set sniping position. Anything. Being on foot, holding down the street with the guns on their back and no guaranteed cover? It was fucking suicide. And all of them fucking knew it.

Ray took it in stride with his usual easy smile, cracking jokes. _“I’m just a killing machine~.”_ Ryan’s smile was tight, playing along, but clearly unconvinced. _“Or a love machine.”_

Maybe he should have said something, more than just probing questions laid off with more and more bullshit from Michael. Maybe - in hindsight now, he wished he had - he should have just pulled his gun and taken them all out right there in that room. Maybe then, Ray...

Maybe he should have just called the bullshit out right then, while they were still in the safety of their base. Or maybe he should have waited, but should have still deviated from the plan. Gotten in a car, picked a rooftop to hide on. But no, Ray had been content to play along, to grab the bike and walk the street. And he’d gone along with it, because Ray was the person he was closest to out of anyone else in the Crew, and he wasn’t going to leave his partner hanging out there all alone.

They’d made a game of it beforehand, while the heat was still off. Trekked to the mask shop together and goofed around, coordinating a matching outfit. Stood side by side comparing t-shirts and debating their shorts, picking out matching shoes in their exaggeratedly different sizes and giggling together, ignoring the low hum of the others in their ears through their earpieces. It had taken a little of the edge off, relaxed him a bit before things got rough. Ray was good at shit like that.

But the minute things started going south, he’d known. Even standing on the street together beforehand, trying to joke about the lack of cover, he’d known. They were getting fucked. The bank was a bust, but the cops still got alerted. Gavin and Michael had tanks to flee to, and Kerry and Geoff were up in the ‘copter. But he and Ray? They were like rats in a maze, slowly being funneled toward a dead end.

The mad dash to the convenience store felt impromptu, and maybe it was, but it was unsettlingly convenient, how it all seemed to work out. He and Ray ended up in an alley, which would have normally felt like a death trap, but after dodging bullets in an open street, it felt more like a blessing.

_“See, Ryan, this is much better!”_

That sunny smile, that ever-positive outlook even as they braced at opposite sides of the mouth of the alley and peered out at the cops, which were slowly growing more and more numerous, cars lining up at either end of the street, boxing them in.

If they were meant to be decoys, they were doing a fucking fantastic job. He could hear Michael in his earpiece, screaming at the cashier in the convenience store. And all he could think, as the buzz of voices dwindled into white noise, was that they had been fucked from the start. And it was as much his fault as Michael’s that they were hemmed in and under fire, just waiting for the stray bullet to put them both down.

He felt the bullets graze him a time or two, burning a line of fire over the top of his shoulder or the side of his leg. Warnings. Reminders of how exposed they truly were.

Ray disappeared around the corner at one point, and he heard confirmation that Michael and Gavin were on the move, robbery successful, heading up the road opposite the place where they were hemmed in. He wished Ray had gone with them then, had gone down that same way and split off from them, gotten in a car and made a run for it. But Ray wouldn't do that. He trusted the Crew.

It all happened in slow motion for Ryan, turning at the first sickening sound of bullets that hit meat instead of stone, ricocheting off of bone instead of brick, watching as Ray staggered back, with horror spreading across his face as Ryan watched it out play out helplessly. The jerk of his body with each bullet that tore into it, dragging it back another step. The sharp, ragged cry as Ray went down, fallen against the wall, gun sliding from his hands as he dropped gracelessly into an immobile heap.

“Ray!”

He ducked across the alley and crashed onto his knees roughly beside the younger man, hands hovering, fingers twitching uncertainly over him. He was dead before he even hit the ground. There was blood sprayed everywhere, holes littering his shirt, a grisly connect the dots that stood out garishly from the yellow they had playfully chosen together such a short time ago.

He could hear the others still humming in his ear, asking questions, demanding a check in. Everything felt like it was moving slowly, through water. It roared in his ears as he swung around again, gun raised, and mowed down cops. He was screaming; he wouldn’t be able to recall what exactly, if you asked him. But his throat was raw afterwards, and behind his mask his eyes burned.

There would be more cops coming. If there was one thing Los Santos had, it was always more fucking cops.

He pulled the mic from his ear and crushed it under his boot, as the others rattled off down the list as survivors to this point. Crouching again, he brushed his fingertips gently over the mask covering Ray’s face, shivers wracking his frame from his shoulders to the balls of his feet as regret washed through him, icy and unforgiving, like slush in his veins.

“I’ll come back for you… after.“

Even if he had to steal the body back from the hospital morgue, or wherever it ended up. He would be the one to dispose of Ray. Not the fucking city of Los Santos. And not one of those fuckers that had purposefully left him here to die.

Ryan snagged their bike from the rear of the alley and headed out, as thoughts of vengeance meshed and crystallized in his mind. He knew where the meeting point was meant to be. He’d seen the boats being prepared. It was unlikely that they’d planned for either himself or Ray to survive, so their knowing the endgame wouldn’t have impacted too much. Which meant if he could beat them there, then he could set himself up in a prime spot and pick them off as they approached.

Easy.

He saw two boats out in the water as he drove up, empty and waiting.

Or not.

As he looked, he realized there was a little jet ski beside one of the boats, and there was a figure crouched in one of them, rising back up after a moment. Ryan shut off his bike, tucking it into hiding among the tall, grassy sand dunes, and clambered up onto one of them, carting his sniper rifle along with him, bringing the person into better focus.

Lindsay.

She wasn’t even supposed to be a part of this heist.

Fishier and fucking fishier all the damn time.

He waited until she was back on the jet ski and away from the boats, clearly moving off into hiding herself, before he picked her off. The satisfaction he got from watching the body topple off the jet ski and into the water had a smile on his face as he hunkered down a little lower into the sand and waited for the others to arrive.

Geoff and Kerry showed up first, climbing into the boat - incidentally, the one he _hadn’t_ seen Lindsay get into at any point. They seemed content to sit still and shoot the shit, still clearly connected to Michael and Gavin by the mics, seemingly unaware of any potential kinks in the plan.

Which just made Michael that much more of a conniving backstabber, in the end.

When the third boat finally came, carrying Michael, Gavin, and the bag of loot they’d managed to acquire from the convenience store, Ryan lingered for just a moment longer, watching them through the scope, savoring that vague look of confusion on Michael’s face just before he let the first bullet fly.

He took out Gavin first, just to be safe, and to ensure Michael had no doubts about what was going on. He took Geoff next, because he was currently in the driver’s seat of the other boat, and he didn’t want them trying to take off and escape any sooner than they had to. Kerry was predictably freaked out, seemingly entirely unaware of any subterfuge going on behind the scenes.

Poor kid.

He picked Shawcross off next just to save him the misery.

Which left only Michael, who had drawn his own gun and seemed ill at ease, shouting across the water. Ryan didn’t bother acknowledging the words, didn’t even begin to try. He didn’t care what Michael might have to say. He wondered briefly if he might be calling for Lindsay. But then he decided almost as quickly that he simply didn’t care.

Michael kept moving. He knew that they were being sniped, and the best way to stay alive was to keep from being an easy target. It was difficult to do on such a small boat, but Michael had managed to pull this off for a reason. He was smart. He was fast.

Ryan just needed to be smarter, and faster.

He left the rifle in the sand, and went back to his SMG, making sure it was reloaded and ready to go before he came up from his hiding spot.

“What the fuck! What the _fuck!! **Ryan**?!”_

Michael went for his gun. Ryan was already shooting as he walked further up the beach. Adrenaline and fury pumped through his body, and made the bullets he could feel hitting him seem like nothing. He kept firing until Michael stopped. Until the return fire ceased. Until his body crumpled. And still he kept going, until the clip was empty, and he stood at the edge of the water looking out, and knew for certain that Michael was dead.

He wished he could feel a little more at peace with what had happened, for the vengeance he’d taken. But staring out at the water, at the bodies in the boats, all he could think of was Ray back in that alley.

They’d all always planned to go out in some horrible way. They were in a gang, it was to be expected. But there was a difference between going out in a blaze of glory, and being sent before a firing squad.

Ray was still in the alley when he went back. He was limping, aching, bleeding. The bike was the only reason he’d made it back. He rolled off of it clumsily, sinking down onto the concrete with a groan. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he crawled the rest of the way.

He dropped down with his back against the bricks, side by side with Ray, who had long since gone cold. “I did it,” he murmured, staring up at the sky through the holes in his mask, focusing on each next breath, and then the one after. Feeling the heat seep away, slowly. “Did it for you, Ray. R&R connection, right?” He huffed out a ragged laugh. “Fuckin’ got ‘em.”

He allowed himself the weakness of listing to the side, of his head slipping down onto Ray’s shoulder. Just for a moment, he told himself, as his eyes closed.

Just for a moment.


End file.
